


Human Nature

by pasiphile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Knotting, M/M, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is an omega who passes as an alpha, for the sake of appearances and his own sanity. Moran is an alpha who's looking for someone to serve. It shouldn't work, but it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Nature

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221brosiewilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde/gifts).



> written for queeriarty's prompt: _Mormor, omegaverse, Either Jim or Sebastian (whoever you pick, I totally don't mind, though I do have a soft spot for omega!Jim) goes into heat during an important meeting. Doesn't necessarily have to be smutty if you'd rather explore consent and gender issues and things, but smut is always lovely UwU_. Beta'd by the lovely johannes-von-faustus.
> 
> Warnings for dubious consent, reference to non-con, trans* issues and body dysphoria, and wonky biology
> 
> for the Valentine Kink Fest

“The  _border_ , Mr Grimani, stops at Battersea. It thought that was fairly clear. Or can’t you read maps?”

The man’s lips go thin. “Look, sir, those bastards don’t – ”

“I’m not interested in what the  _other people_ were doing, I’m interested in  _you_. So?”

Grimani swallows and starts an incoherent story about being challenged, about defending himself, the usual excuses.  _Boring_.

Jim shifts about, feeling antsy. Damn these meetings, the chairs are always uncomfortable.

“- if I just had ignored them my men would have – ”

“If you want to expand your territory,” Jim cuts him off, “you be a good boy and  _ask first_.” He gives Grimani a thin, understated smile. “Or were you thinking of going behind my back?”

He immediately backpedals, blurting out apologies like he’s been caught with his pants down. Jim’s fingers tap on the surface of the desk. He wriggles again, slightly, and –

 _Damn_. He should have seen this coming, but,  _damn_. The restlessness, the increased sharpness of senses…  _Textbook_.

But out of all possible places and times…

In the corner, Moran uncrosses his arms and leans away from the wall.

Grimani is staring at him. Waiting for a reply, god knows what he asked, hard to concentrate on some little idiot’s words when your whole body is screaming at you to _get laid, now_.

Jim focuses back on him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening,” he says, with a nasty smile underlining how much he doesn’t care.

“I think he’s getting bored with you, Mr Grimani,” Moran says from the corner, and Jim allows himself a tiny sigh of relief. That’s what he’s got Moran for, after all. To step in when needed, take care of the annoying things.

“You heard what he said,” Moran continues, perfectly calm. Grimani has gone pale, terrified. “You fucking well toe the line,  _literally_ , or you’re going to wake up with your bollocks stuffed down your throat. Got it?”

Jim stares at his hands. His knuckles have gone white.

“Now fuck off,” Moran finishes, and Grimani’s chair almost falls down in his haste to get away.

Moran stands in the doorway, watching until he’s gone, and then he closes the door and leans against it. “Another five minutes and the bastard would have sensed it,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Fucking close call, sir.”

Jim tips his head back and breathes out. “Too damn close,” he agrees.

Moran tilts his head. “So. Any suggestions how we’re going to, er, resolve this?”

“Suggestions?” He gives Moran a look.  _Want_ , his body yells at him.  _Now_. He ignores it.

Moran shrugs. “Either I do something to take the edge off, or you wait until we get home.”

Jim breathes out again, slow, controlled. As much as he would like to say he’s capable of waiting… “I’m probably not going to last,” Jim admits.

“Thank  _god_ ,” Moran says, and in two quick steps he’s close to Jim, leaning on the desk. He gets a glimpse of Moran’s eyes – dark, pupils dilated, nothing left of the usual silver-grey of his eyes but a slim circle at the edge – and then he’s pulled Jim over the desk into a deep kiss.

And every single nerve ending in Jim’s body  _sings_  with it.

***

Jim was an omega.

This was a problem. Not as big a problem as it would have been, say, hundred years ago, when he would have been forced to spend each high point of his cycle either tearing at the walls locked inside, or getting fucked by whichever run-of-the-mill alpha first got his scent. The mere  _idea_ of it was enough to make him shudder.

But this was a modern age, which meant all he had to do was fiddle with his biochemistry a bit and he could just go on, undistracted, unbothered by the infuriatingly  _basic_ processes of his own body. All it took was a pill, or an injection, and he might as well be a beta for all the influence his hormones had on him.

Unfortunately the world wasn’t  _that_ modern, especially not the criminal one. But everything could be solved, with a little creativity, a little thinking-outside-of-the-box. All he had to do was make  _our Jim, omega-next-door_ , disappear and replace him with  _James Moriarty, consulting criminal_.

After all, someone that powerful  _had_ to be an alpha, right?

***

_Fifteen months earlier_

“You can leave.”

The newcomer paused in the door, obviously thrown. “Sorry?”

Jim didn’t look up from his papers. “You can  _leave_. And learn to read. I specifically said  _only betas_.”

The man crossed his arms. “Who says I’m not a beta?”

Jim raised his eyebrows at him.

The newcomer was… Well, practically the poster child for male alphas. Tall. Muscled. Square jaw, straight nose, short-cropped hair. Full of that natural arrogance, that undefinable air of better-than-you. If he was a beta, he was playing a  _very_ dangerous game.

A game not unlike Jim’s, actually, except Jim’s pretence was even more taboo.

 “Alright, fine,” the man said, placidly. “You got me, I’m alpha through and through. But gender-based discrimination is frowned upon these days, didn’t you know?”

Jim leaned back in his chair. “Sue me. After you’ve left, preferably.”

“Look,” he replied, still calm, “all I ask is that you give me a chance, sir. Sebastian Moran, by the way.” He dropped a file on the desk and stepped back, standing to attention. Not sitting down because he wasn’t given permission. Interesting.

Jim gritted his teeth and pulled the file over. “Fine. Sit.”

And he went down like a good boy. “Thank you,” he said politely.

Jim snorted and opened the file, aware of Moran’s eyes on him.

He wasn’t prepared to deal with this, not at this point in his cycle. Being in close proximity to an alpha – more specifically, an alpha looking like Moran, who was very much his type, loathe he was to admit it – that wasn’t the sort of thing he could cope with without chemical assistance. It could very well be enough of a trigger to send him into – well. The thing.

Jim shifted on his chair. If only he could take a pill – but no, too risky, Moran would notice, would ask questions.

Never mind. Concentrate on the job. On the bio and the references and the – hold on.

He looked up and raised his eyebrow at Moran. “If this is a fake, it isn’t a very good one.”

Moran smiled. “Eton or the sharp-shooting?”

“What sharp-shooting?”

“Next page,” Moran said, grin widening.

Jim flipped the page. He stared.

Eton, Oxford, first-class honours. IQ well above average. Three years in the SAS. Longest recorded kill shot in the British Army. Medal after medal after medal.

Moran, roughly summarised, was a highly trained, very intelligent, incredibly efficient killing machine. Or in other words: exactly what Jim had been looking for. Except of course for the small matter of his gender.

And  _god_ Jim’s body was fighting him right now. Forget job possibilities, Moran was practically a wet dream come to life.

Jim dug his nails into his thigh in the safety beneath his desk and forced himself back in control. “And  _why_ ,” he drawled, “would you be willing to work for me with a track record like his?”

“I want to work for you because you’re…” Moran hesitated. “Well. You’re taking over London, aren’t you?”

Jim froze up. No one was supposed to know about that, not yet. His plans were still hidden, too subtle for anyone to notice, but… “What makes you say that?”

“I’m er, good at recognising patterns.” He was still staring at Jim, fixed. Not threatening or aggressive, strangely enough, which would have been what you could have expected from an alpha like him. But instead there was something more like… fascination? Like Moran couldn’t tear himself away. “And it makes sense. I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure until I saw you.”

“Saw me?” Jim said lazily. Even though inside he felt like he was boiling over.

“Yeah. You’re…” He waved his hand. Still staring. “I don’t know. But I  _really_ want to work for you. I’m one of the best,” he added. Not bragging, simple statement of fact. “And I  _can_ follow orders, especially if they’re not coming from brainless idiots.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Jim said drily. He closed the file. “But no.”

Moran frowned. “No?”

“No. Get out.” He clenched his jaw. His hands were starting tremble, cock straining against his trousers. His skin felt like it was on fire.

“ _Why_?” Moran asked, sounding almost hurt. “Give me one good reason why I – ”

“I do  _not_ owe you explanations,” Jim said sharply. “Now  _leave_.”

Moran’s eyes narrowed. “If this is about  _fucking_ prejudices – it is, isn’t it? I’m not some mindless – some mindless fool who… ” He trailed off. And then he leaned in and _sniffed_ , like a dog taking in the air.

His eyes went wide.

Jim immediately got his gun from the desk drawer and pointed it at Moran. “Choose your next words very  _very_ carefully,” he said, but even his voice was betraying him, sounding shaky and weak.

“My god,” Moran said, still wide-eyed. “You magnificent  _bastard_.”

Jim blinked. That… wasn’t  _quite_ the reaction he’d been expecting. “Make a move and you’re dead.”

Moran looked down, to the left, lips pressed together. He was suddenly breathing hard as well, probably just seconds away from pouncing on Jim and having his naughty alpha-way with him – over his dead body.

But he didn’t move a muscle, and after a few moments he looked up again, face calm, controlled. “Yes  _sir_.”

Jim stared.  _Sir_. Omegas didn’t get  _sirs_ , ever. But Moran had noticed, hadn’t he? He’d have smelled the – the  _lust_ on Jim, like a bitch in heat.

And still he sat there, perfectly obedient.

“Sure you’re not a beta after all?” Jim asked, smirking. “A  _true_ alpha had thrown me over the desk and fucked me by now.”

Moran briefly closed his eyes, jaw going tight. “I pride myself on my self-control above anything else, sir.”

Again, the  _Sir_. Funny how such a little word could have such an effect on him.

“But I probably can’t keep it up permanently,” Moran continued. “If you go fully in heat, I – ”

“I  _don’t_.” He put the gun down and reached into his desk for the injection kit. After years of use he could do this in less than a minute, even with his hands still shaking as they were now. But injections worked quicker than pills, and right now he needed his relief as soon as possible.

He sighed happily when he pulled the syringe back out of his arm. Purely placebo at this point, of course, even injections didn’t work that immediately, but still.

“Er…” Moran said, blinking.

“Like I said. I  _don’t_. I keep things in check,” he said calmly.

“Yeah, like you did just then?”

Jim raised an eyebrow. Moran immediately backpedalled, raising his arms in apology.

“All I’m saying is that it’s taking one hell of a risk, even with all your precautions.” He dropped his hands back to his chair. “And that you could use someone to have your back,” he added slyly.

Jim leaned backwards. It was immensely tempting. Moran was pretty much perfect for what he needed. And in the end… Well, the criminal world was old-fashioned; a beta bodyguard would have trouble impressing people, but Moran… He would be able to shut up entire rooms with nothing but a look.

“I’ve had an alpha bodyguard before,” Jim said. “It didn’t end well. Tell me why you should be different.”

Moran looked back, just as calm. “Because you’re smelling more tempting than a whorehouse after six months at sea and I still haven’t moved a muscle. That’s why. _Sir_.”

“You can take orders? Do exactly as I tell you?”

Moran smiled again. “That’s what I’ve been doing, isn’t it?”

Jim stared at him. He wasn’t budging, Moran, eyes still fixed on Jim. Perfectly in control.

His very own alpha-on-a-leash.

Jim cleared his throat. “Welcome aboard.”

***

_Now_

“Go on,” Moran says, urgently. “ _Up_.”

He pulls Jim out of his chair and pushes him back a little, so he has to lean his hands behind him on the desk. Moran falls to his knees without a second of hesitation – something that still hasn’t ceased to be incredibly transgressively  _hot_  – and pulls eagerly at Jim’s belt, his trousers.

Jim leans his head back and drops his hand to Moran’s hair, winds his fingers through the short sandy locks.

And then suddenly, Moran stops. Jim pulls at his hair. “Well?”

Moran looks up. He already looks a little frayed at the edges. “You’re going to leave your scent all over this place if we do this here,” he manages to say. Always the practical one.

“Doesn’t matter.” He pushes Moran’s head back down. “I’ll torch this place the moment we leave.”

Moran laughs breathlessly. “That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”

But any sort of practicalities quickly leave his mind because Moran has finally pulled his trousers and his underwear down.

Jim tightens his fingers and pushes Moran against his crotch. He mouths at Jim’s cock, hand going up the back of his thigh. Jim opens his legs as far as he can with his trousers tangled around his ankles like that, giving Moran as much access as possible, go  _on_ , what’s he waiting for –

And then Moran pushes his fingers in and Jim almost sobs. Moran has large hands, long fingers, and it still isn’t nearly enough but for the moment it’s blissful  _relief_.

He relaxes his grip on Moran’s hair. Moran looks up from Jim’s cock and gives him a quick grin. “All better now?”

“Yes,” he hisses, eyes half-closed.

Trust Moran to know how to deal with this.

***

_Eleven months ago_

The doorbell rang.

“Enter,” Jim said, pacing, mind whirring away.

Moran opened the door of Jim’s flat. “You really should invest in better security, I – Whoa.”

Jim looked up in surprise. Moran had backed away, hands raised. Jim frowned at him. “What?”

“You’re, erm… You don’t know? You’re about to – ”

Jim bit his tongue. Of course – he’d been too caught up in his mind to pay any attention to the signals of his body. “Damn.” He went to his cabinet and pulled out the pills, tipped one onto his palm and downed it in one go. Stupid, _stupid_ to let it come this far.

He turned on Moran and raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to be able to control yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s…” A quick smile. “You’re still in the early stages, sir. I’ll manage to control my  _animal impulses_.”

“Good.” Jim frowned at the bottle. He was running out again, he really should keep better track of his supplies. “Everything went fine?”

“Yep.” Moran reached into his inside pocket and pulled out an envelope. “All here, in all its sordid detail.”

Jim held out his hand and Moran gave him the envelope, careful not to let their hands touch. Clever boy.

He flipped quickly through the pictures. First-rate blackmail material, the MP’s husband having rather heated sex with her beta PA – the scandal would be massive, she’d never be taken seriously again, not if she couldn’t even keep her own omega in check.

The irony of it didn’t escape Jim.

“So, you’ve got pills and injections, yeah?”

He looked up, frowning, at Moran. He was leaning against the back of the sofa, arms crossed, looking especially attract- no, that was the hormones talking, keep his head straight now.

“Yes. Injections work quicker but the pills are more… more  _balanced_.”

“Right. And they just, er,  _stop_ you, do they? Goodbye heat, no more urges?”

He gave Moran a long, hard stare. “Why are you asking?”

He shrugged. “Cause I’m your bodyguard, it makes sense I know what's in your blood. In case of an emergency.”

The man had a point. Even though something inside of him balked at even the idea of sharing his experiments with someone else – hormone treatment wasn’t just outlawed, it was  _taboo_. Wrong, sick, perverted, in the mind of most people.

For Jim, of course, it had meant a delightful opportunity, a perfect way out. Interesting experiments with the added joy of giving the finger to society at large.

“No,” Jim said at last. “They don’t make me just  _stop_ , nothing does, human biochemistry is too complicated to completely replace it with external chemicals.” _Doesn’t keep me from trying, though_ , he mentally added.

“So what do they do, then?”

“They… dampen the external effects. No more treacherous scents, for one thing. And they take the edge off.”

Moran grinned. “No locking yourself in your bedroom to rut on massive dildos, then?”

He gave Moran a cool look. “No.”

“Well, that’s one of my fantasies ruined,” he said easily. And then, at Jim’s continued glare, he raised his hands. “Joke, sir. It all sounds very wise and practical to me.”

“But?”

Moran raised his eyebrows. “There’s a but?”

“Don’t play the idiot with me, Moran. Well?”

“Fine.” He shrugged again. “Just wondering if you never get tempted. To, er, let nature take its course, give in to it all.”

 _Tempted_. Of course Jim got fucking tempted, but he had given in to temptation before and it had never left him feeling anything but disgust at himself, at whichever alpha he’d picked up, at the whole damn world for forcing him into a role he didn't want.

“No,” he lied. “Now come on, we have work to do.”

***

_Now_

Moran’s fingers slowly fuck in and out of him, his mouth wet and warm around Jim’s cock. It’s the best possible kind of torture, still not entirely enough to satisfy the dull ache in Jim’s stomach, but…

Moran pulls off with a wet  _slurp_. “Leg up,” he says curtly.

Jim shakes his trousers off his ankle and Moran lifts Jim’s leg over his shoulder. Jim almost loses his balance, nearly dislocates his wrist in an attempt to stay upright. Moran’s hand grabs his hip, giving him a bit of support.

He tries to reach back for Moran’s hair, but he needs his hands behind him to stay up. Which means he can only lie back as Moran’s mouth goes back to his cock and his fingers, soaking wet, slowly push in again, all four of them, and then the tip of his thumb…

Jim gasps and lets his head fall back, as slowly, methodically, Moran works his entire fist up Jim’s arse.

He groans, loud, almost there now but –

And then Moran twists his hand and flicks his tongue over the head of Jim’s cock and that’s it, he comes, cursing a blue streak and clenching down on Moran’s hand, shaking with momentary relief.

He blows out a long breath and looks back down at Moran.

Moran slowly pulls his hand back out. “Fuck,” he gasps, half laughing. “I think you nearly broke my hand there.”

He raises his fingers. Shiny, wet, dripping with it. Moran stares at it.

And then he raises his hand and leisurely starts licking his fingers clean.

Jim closes his eyes with a groan. “Home.  _Now_ ,” he growls.

***

_Six months ago_

Jim paced up and down again. Breathing, that was the key, not giving in to that urge to pant, just keep slow and steady. Not getting distracted by the sound of his heartbeat, too fast, too erratic.

He glanced at the clock. Four hours since the first signs.  Maybe he could do this without chemicals after all, no need to –

A sound. Key in the lock, but that was impossible, he was the only one with access to this place, except for…

 _No_.

Moran opened the door, a bag over his shoulder. “Afternoon,” he said cheerfully. “Battery went dead, sorry, but you did say to come as soon as I had this stuff so – Sir? Are you…”

Jim felt nailed to the spot. Four hours of fighting his instincts all went down the drain at the mere sight of Moran. He clung hopelessly to the last shreds of his self-control, anything to keep him from just throwing himself on the floor and  _presenting_ himself, like a mindless animal.

The bag dropped heavily on the floor. Moran took a step forwards and stopped again. “Fuck,” he said hoarsely. “Sorry, fuck, I didn’t know, you should’ve –  _fuck_.”

Jim still couldn’t move. He could only stare at Moran, with a sudden sharp eye for detail he had never had before – the way Moran’s t-shirt hung from his shoulder, the defined line of his bicep, his large well-formed hands, his erection clearly visible through his jeans…

Fuck it.

He shook off his immobility and took two steps closer, and that alone was enough to pull Moran from his stupor as well.

He pounced on Jim and slammed him against the wall, kissing him hungrily. Jim tore at the t-shirt, heard something rip, and then skin, warm, close,  _good_ , but not enough, not yet. He pulled at something – belt, jeans, all in the way, had to get away  _now_  – and then even more bare skin and the heady smell of sex and  _alpha_ and god, he was dripping wet, all he wanted was having Moran close -

And then the warmth and weight were gone. He whined at the loss, feeling empty, deeply dissatisfied. All he needed was  - was…

No.

With a huge wrench of effort Jim managed to get his lust-addled senses back under control. He was  _better_ than this.

He turned his head.

Moran had stepped away. As Jim watched, he kicked a stray chair, ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, rushed, not looking at Jim. “I didn’t mean to – ”

Jim stared at him. This was the moment, he could send Moran away – he’d find some whore to spend his seed in, he’d be fine – and he could take his highest dosage and lock himself in the bedroom with the biggest dildo in his collection, he’d be fine as well.

It was the smart thing to do. But it didn’t take into account the way Moran’s shirt clung to his back with sweat, or the way he was shaking like he had a fever, or the answering fire in Jim’s veins, in his cock, this deep-seated painful  _need_.

“Go to the bedroom,” he said.

Moran’s head whipped up. “You’re serious? But what about – I thought you said you never went into heat, I mean - ”

“Moran. I just gave you an order,” Jim said, breathing heavily.

They locked eyes. Moran looked like it was causing him physical pain just staying still where he was.

“Do you, er… have handcuffs or anything?” he said at last.

“What?”

“ _Handcuffs._ Restrains. You have any?”

Jim shook his head. He already could feel his thoughts coming apart again, growing frazzled. “First drawer. Need them?”

“I’d -  I’d rather not risk it.”

“Good. Go.”

Moran practically  _ran_ to the bedroom.

Jim turned and ran his hand through his hair. It came back wet with sweat. This was a fundamentally bad idea, on more than one level. Betraying his own principles, risking his working relationship with Moran, let alone the physical danger…

But the alternative wasn’t really appealing either, right now. Either way, he was going to suffer, so he might as well take the new, interesting, exciting road this time.

He sighed and went to the bedroom.

Moran was lying naked on the bed, wrists cuffed to the metal headboard, erection standing out proudly.

Jim had to pause and take a few deep breaths before he felt even a little in control again. He almost felt like drooling, because Moran – muscled, strong, gorgeous, one hundred percent alpha and chained to the bed and waiting like a good boy and –

Jim turned away and buried his nails into his palm, fighting himself to the bone.

“Sir?” Moran asked. Pleaded, voice hoarse and broken.

Jim turned back, slowly went to the bed and sat down on the edge. Even that simple nearness almost felt too much – and for Moran too, it seemed, because he twitched and his hands pulled hard against the handcuffs.

“Sir,  _please_ ,” he said, and again Jim had to close his eyes and breathe through the sudden wild rush of  _want_.

He put his hands on Moran’s shoulders – eliciting another shudder – and slowly raised his leg, until he was kneeling over Moran’s hips. Jim was shaking with the effort of going slow, but he would  _not_ , he  _refused_ , to just be commanded by his own instincts.

He leaned one hand on Moran’s chest and reached behind with the other, aligning Moran’s cock. Moran shivered violently. “Please,” he said again, eyes closed.

Jim went down. Four hours of being on edge meant this wasn’t difficult at all anymore; Moran’s cock slid in like it belonged there.

Jim slowly rolled his hips. Moran’s eyes had rolled up, only the whites showing, panting. And Jim – well, he was still shaking but he was in control, on top, in  _charge_.

He leaned down. “Good?” he whispered.

“ _Fuck_ yes.” Moran pulled against the handcuffs again.

Jim took his jaw, kissed him. He slowly tilted his hips back.

“More,” Moran gasped. “Please, just – ”

Jim straightened up again. He leaned his hands down on Moran’s chest and shifted around experimentally. He wasn’t used to this, it was nothing like using a toy, and it had been ages since he had last had an alpha. And yet, once he had found his rhythm it was  _easy_. Natural – horrid word, but appropriate.

He curled his fingers and nearly sobbed as each movement sent pure pleasure down his nerves. It wasn’t just sex, it was the most perfect form of satisfaction.

Moran’s hands had curled around the headboard, knuckles gone white. He rocked with each movement of Jim’s hips, frowning and biting his lip like he was in extreme pain.

Jim slid his hand down to Moran’s neck. His eyes flew open. He stared at Jim like he was in shock.

“Go on,” Jim hissed. “ _Come_.”

Moran’s lips went thin and he closed his eyes again. His thighs moved beneath Jim and he met Jim’s next push with a thrust of his own, something that seemed to send sparks straight to Jim's spine. Jim threw his head back, lost in it – close, so close, but –

And Moran came.

Jim fell forward again, still leaning on Moran’s chest. His hair was hanging in his eyes, he felt sweaty. The sheets were soaked beneath them. His legs were starting to cramp up.

He felt glorious.

For the first time in a very long while he was simply at  _peace_ with his body. The other times he’d fucked an alpha the physical enjoyment had been almost completely blacked out by his constant disgust, self-hatred, shame, but now? No matter the biology,  _he_ was the one who’d called the shots.

He rolled his hips again. The knot was there, undeniably, good hard pressure taking away that incessant dull wanting ache that had been torturing him all day. No doubt he’d start  _needing_ again quite soon, but for the moment he could enjoy a moment of quiet. And clarity, for once, without the drugs in his system dampening his thoughts.

He blinked and looked down at Moran. His eyes were still closed and he was breathing heavily. Asleep? Or just exhausted.

After a moment’s consideration he undid Moran’s right handcuff. Moran’s hand fell heavily on Jim’s shoulder, pulling him close. He let himself be drawn in and leaned his cheek on Moran’s chest.

He could feel Moran’s heartbeat. Still going too quickly. He smiled.

“God,” Moran said, after a while.

“Been a while?” Jim asked, grinning.

“Yeah. But it’s not – it’s  _never_ been like that. Like you.”

“No,” Jim agreed. “Probably not.”

He fell silent again. Jim looked up at him. He was frowning at the ceiling, looking like he was in deep thought.

“I don’t understand,” Moran muttered.

“Well,” Jim said lazily, “I’m sure your mother must have told you, but let me summarise: you’ve got big strong alphas, made to protect, and delicate weak omegas, made to be pr-”

Moran gave him a little shove. “I mean this. You’ve got your pills, right? Then why… ”

“Experimenting,” he said curtly.

“Yeah, but… And why don’t you just take them constantly? It’s one hell of a risk you’re taking. If you ever go in heat with one of your alpha flunkies near – ”

“I know that,” Jim said sharply.

“Then why?”

Jim stayed silent for a while. He didn’t really want to talk about this. But Moran had been working for him for almost a year. Even the simple fact that he was  _here_ , in Jim’s bed, and he felt only the slightest possible urge to kick him out again, said enough about how much he trusted the man.

“Because they… ” he started. Moran looked at him. “They dull my mind as well. I can’t think properly.”

“Ah. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Sort of.” He brushed Jim’s hair from his forehead. “So this is… what, the lesser of two evils?”

“Roughly, yes.”

Moran’s hand went to his neck, holding him. “’Cept most alphas would want you to just bend over and take it.”

Jim shuddered. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Er, about that…” He pulled his hand away and jangled the other cuff against the metal. “I think you better…”

Jim smiled. And then he sat up and unlocked the other cuff.

Moran’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“As long as you don’t expect me to – what was it? Bend over and take it?”

Moran’s grin turned feral. He grabbed Jim around the waist and flipped them both around, pinned Jim’s wrists to the bed and leaned in close. The scent of him… he could drown in that.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Moran growled.

Jim laughed and threw his legs around Moran’s waist. “You’re a very strange man, Moran.”

“Match made in heaven, then, you fucking weirdo.”

Jim hooked his hand around Moran’s neck and bit down hard on his bottom lip. Moran’s only reaction was a deep grunt and thrust of his hips.

Yes, this really was the best possible solution.

***

_Now_

The building is empty, thankfully, no one to stare at Jim’s stained trousers, to react to the heavy scent of sex and pheromones hanging around them.

Moran considerately gets a towel from the booth of the car for him to sit on. He gets into the driver’s seat and tears off in the direction of Jim’s flat, driving even more aggressively than usual.

Jim stares out of the window and tries to empty his mind. Their little romp might have taken the edge off but he still  _wants_.

He has a syringe hidden beneath the seats. All he needs to do is inject and he’d be fine.  _Fine_  – but slow, dull-witted, aching all over, tired… And the formula’s more preventive than curative, it wouldn’t work nearly as well as usual now the symptoms had already kicked in full-force.

The easiest way is just to let Moran fuck him through it. The easiest, most efficient, and – he smiles, secretly – the most  _fun_ as well.

“How you’re doing back there?” Moran asks, with a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.

“Deciding whether I’ll suck you off first or will just let you take me the second we’re though the door.”

They almost hit a traffic sign. Jim laughs his arse off while Moran curses and jerks the wheel, getting them back on the road.

The strange thing is that he doesn’t feel as desperate as he used to feel at times like this. It’s like his body has finally realised that yes, he’s fully intending to take care of this, so no need to panic. And he has a suspicion how that happened. He rubs at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, absently.

Not that this need is gone entirely, of course. Simply looking at Moran’s broad back, his shoulders, the back of his neck, is enough for heavy warmth to pool in his stomach.

He leans back against his seat and runs the last few months through his head. Six months, seven cycles, seven times he and Moran spent two whole days in the bedroom, fucking until both of them were completely worn out.

Afterwards he always feels extra energised – unlike the pills, which always gave him a couple of days’ worth of hangover. Or unlike those few times he decided to do the penetrating-job himself and he'd been snappy and irritated and deeply dissatisfied for close to two weeks.

The only danger involved in this is Moran, of course. There’s always the possibility he’ll go full-on alpha and start using words like  _bitch_ and  _mine_ and try to keep Jim down. But up until now the only signs have been the occasional possessiveness, protectiveness, which could just as well be a characteristic of a devoted loyal bodyguard as an alpha imprinting on an omega.

Maybe… Yes, maybe it’s time.

“Sir? We’re here.”

Jim blinks and gets out of the open door. Moran keeps a careful distance from him; they’ve found out that at this stage even a stray touch can be enough to set them off, and Jim has  _rules_ about doing anything in public.

Not that it’s easy. Yes, things might be a bit less  _pressing_ these days, but he still has to consciously fight the urge to grab some part of Moran, the need for touch and closeness trying to overrule everything else. It’s a relief when they’re finally in the privacy of Jim’s flat.

Moran still keeps his distance, hands tucked in his armpits, jaw tight. Waiting until Jim tells him what to do.

It still seems to be good to be true, sometimes. Making Jim feel like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jim slowly strolls closer, his body thrumming with tension. Moran backs away – he hasn’t been given permission to touch yet, after all – until his back hits the wall. His eyes go a bit panicky when Jim comes even closer.

“Sir, can I – ”

Jim puts his hands on Moran’s shoulders and goes onto tiptoe. “Slow,” he whispers, an inch from Moran’s lips, and then he leans in close and kisses him.

Moran shudders. Of course he does, it’s probably one of the most difficult things Jim could ask him.

But he complies, wrapping his arms around Jim’s waist and kissing back, careful and lazy. His hand strokes firmly up Jim’s spine to his nape, stays there, warm and reassuring.

Jim leans back a little and presses his palm against Moran’s crotch, squeezing gently. He takes a deep breath. “I want you to bond with me.”

Moran goes stiff with shock.

“I’m sure you know how it’s done,” Jim continues, calmly. “Probably you’ve been tempted before, haven’t you?”

“But…” Moran starts, still wide-eyed. “But people…”

“No one will know, as long as you keep your protective impulses in check and don’t start groping me in public. The same rules apply as before, really.”

Moran pushes Jim off angrily and takes a few steps away from him. “This isn’t a game,” he snaps angrily. “This is – Jesus, you know what it’s  _like_ , being bonded?”

“No, and neither do you. Although, personally, I think we might have already started.”

“What?” Moran says, irritably.

Jim unbuttons the two top buttons of his shirt and bares his neck and shoulder.

Moran stares. Almost three weeks since they last had sex and still the marks of his teeth are slightly visible, an imprint in Jim’s pale skin. Jim checked them every morning, hoping they would disappear. They hadn’t.

“You got a bit carried away last time,” Jim says, with a calm he doesn’t feel. The absence of touch is starting to get to him. This is probably not the ideal time to have this conversation, but…

“I don’t, don’t even  _remember_ that,” Moran mutters. “But… It doesn’t  _work_ like that, you can’t accidentally bond with someone, you – It has to be fucking mutual, for one thing.”

“Who says it isn’t?”

“You’re saying you  _want_  to – ”

“What I’m saying is that this  _works_. We might as well make it permanent.”

“It’s a risk.”

“Yes. Everything about this is. And it’s not like it doesn’t have its advantages.”

“I…” He stops, runs his hand through his hair. “You’re mad. And I’m going…” He looks up. Once again his usually-light eyes have gone dark, pupils dilated with lust. “Fuck this,” he says suddenly, and with two quick steps he’s in front of Jim.

He tears off Jim’s clothes, interspersed with heated kisses.

“Not  _here_ ,” Jim manages to say, kicking hard against Moran’s shin. “Bedroom.”

“Right.” He pulls himself away, grabs Jim’s arm and drags him to the bedroom. Jim stumbles after, half-sick with a mixture of overwhelming lust and growing dread.

He doesn’t want this, except he does. It feels right, it’s rational, but it’s letting someone in closer than he can imagine and he  _can’t_  –

But he wants, again, and this is the only way to resolve it.

Moran swings him around, practically throws him face-down on the bed. He lands with his face on a pillow, briefly breathless.

Jim scrabbles up and holds a hand out behind him. Moran drops heavily on top of him and he leans in, obediently, his mouth finding Jim’s. Their kisses have grown progressively less skilled, it’s just a mashing together of mouth and teeth and tongue.

“Go  _on_ ,” Jim groans, tilting his hips up. “I can’t – ”

Moran grabs his hips and enters Jim in one deep, hard thrust.

They both just breathe for a while. Jim can  _feel_ his body adjust, the pressure of the knot, his muscles relaxing into it. Pity his mind doesn’t follow, this time. His thoughts are still clawing at the inside of his head, refusing him the relative peace he’d had the previous times he’d fucked Moran.

Moran strokes his sweaty hair away from his forehead. “You’re nervous,” he says, only half a question.

“You can  _smell_  that, can you?” Jim says sourly. He’s glad for the position, for the excuse to avoid Moran’s eyes.

“Sort of. I just – ” He stops. He’s breathing hard, a cool puff of air against the back of Jim’s neck.

Jim pushes up unto his elbows. Moran’s hand covers his, his longer fingers tangling with Jim’s.

“You’re sure,” Moran says. “Tell me you’re sure about this, that isn’t just – just lust-filled warbling. Sir?”

And even now, with Moran’s cock buried balls-deep inside of him, with his teethmarks on Jim’s shoulder, with his weight pressing down on him, it’s still  _Sir_.

“ _Yes_ , I’m sure,” he snaps. “Now  _move_ , we’ve been waiting for long enough.”

Moran laughs. “You’re the boss,” he says, and he changes his position, leaning up unto his elbows.

Each slow, deep thrust makes Jim gasp. He fists the sheets, bites down on his tongue. Nothing,  _nothing_  compares to this.

“Not – not going to need much,” Moran gasps.

“Doesn’t matter.” He scrabbles up, reaches blindly behind him until he catches Moran’s head. He pulls him in and Moran bites Jim's lip, tongue swiping over the cut. Jim bites back, hard.

Moran tears himself away, kissing his way down Jim’s neck. Even the simple pressure of his lips and tongue against that one place on his neck is  _doing_ something to him, a sudden rush of almost-elation, like he imagines shooting up would feel.

Moran growls, deep in his throat. His movements become erratic, quick, his hand closes over Jim’s, squeezing, pressing down hard.

And then he comes and bites down, and Jim blacks out.

***

He wakes up slowly. Moran is near.

He blinks. How – he didn’t see, didn’t hear…

Ah. The  _bond_ , as they so poetically call it. Just a matter of pheromones and conditioning, nothing  _mystical_ about it, nothing but complex biochemistry.

Still. Potentially handy, having a neurochemical gps tracker on his bodyguard.

Footsteps – Moran’s, he knows with an absolute certainty.

“Liar,” Moran says, warm and amused, from somewhere behind him.

“Hm?”

Something lands in front of him. He blinks – dildo.

Moran sits down next to him on the bed. “You told me you never used those.”

“Well…” He takes the dildo and runs his finger over it. A poor substitute for the real thing, he knows now. “Sometimes. To see how it compared, how the drugs affected it.”

“Experimenting?”

“Hmm, yes.” He turns onto his back. Moran is watching him, one leg drawn up under him, more cautious than relaxed. “Well?” Jim asks. “No sudden urges to burn all my suits and put me in frilly skirts? Buy me jewellery? Lock me in your room and call me _yours_?”

Moran shrugs. “Not particularly, no. And you? Getting ready to hand me my slippers at the end of the day, make my supper?”

Jim snorts and kicks him in the shin, hard. Moran only chuckles. “I’ll take that as a _no_ , then.”

“Take it as a  _I will kill you slowly and painfully if you ever dare to suggest that_.”

Moran laughs again and stretches his leg out. “Yeah, no worries, I don’t exactly trust your cooking skills.”

Jim puts his hand on Moran’s muscled thigh. Joking aside, something  _is_ different, the physical presence of him having a strange, calming effect.

You hear stories about omegas dying or going mad when their alpha dies. He always considered it melodramatic nonsense, but it’s a little easier to understand, now. To know this peace and then have it torn away again…

He shakes his head.  _Melodramatics_ , and he’s damned if he’s going to get soppy over this.

He sits up and swings his leg over Moran’s hips. “Want to renew our vows, sweetheart?” he drawls, and Moran bursts out in laughter.

“Yeah, sure.” One of his hands takes Jim's hip and the other comes up to his neck, squeezes where the skin still bears the mark of his teeth. It sends a delicious shiver down his spine, makes his toes curl. Hormones, but damn if it doesn’t feel good.

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” Moran drawls, an almost pitch-perfect imitation of one of porn’s most favoured lines.

Jim retaliates by bending down and biting down on Moran’s neck, mirroring his own mark, teeth digging in deep. Moran curses, grabs his hair as if to pull him off but only ends up pushing him closer.

Jim pulls off and licks his lips. Moran laughs. “God, you’re – ”

“Yes?” he asks, grinning.

“Unnatural,” only he says it like it’s a compliment, praise. Jim digs his nails into Moran’s shoulders and sinks down on his cock, as slowly as he can.

“Perfect,” Moran adds, eyes closed.

And Jim closes his eyes as well and loses himself in the pleasure of it.


End file.
